Beautiful Thing
by maudlinrose
Summary: Love: A feeling of intense desire and attraction toward a person with whom one is disposed to make a pair; the emotion of sex and romance. Draco Malfoy loves Harry Potter. Harry Potter loves Draco Malfoy.
1. Beautiful Thing

Disclaimer:  I do not own nor will I ever own Harry Potter or any of his friends, enemies, or associates.  

Author's Note:  This story contains slash.  Oh, for god's sake.  The summary says, "Draco Malfoy loves Harry Potter."  If you do not realise that that implies slash, then you have either a) never actually read the Harry Potter series, or b) serious problems.  Your choice.  Please feel free to hit the 'back' button if you fall into either of these categories.  

Rating:  R

Beautiful Thing 

By maudlinrose

Draco Malfoy loves Harry Potter.  

Oh, yes.  

Sitting in Potions, bits of Draco lean towards wherever Harry is sitting – a quill, a finger, his wand.  If Harry would only turn to Draco, he would find Draco ready, his body poised exactly to strike up a conversation or an argument.  Every class this happens, and every class Draco is disappointed.  For Harry never turns to Draco.  Harry is aloof, and wary, and doesn't look at Draco at all.  

Draco finds himself getting ever more vicious to Harry.  The taunts, childlike in first year, are becoming careful and deliberate, striking at Harry with the same effectiveness as a fanged snake.  

Harry's a parseltongue.  He can always talk the snake out of harming him.  

Draco stalks Harry from class to class.  Whenever Harry turns a corner, he is there, smirking and muttering under his breath about mudbloods.  

Harry ignores this.  Harry doesn't care.  Draco is nothing to him, a little boy with bad hair and an attitude problem.  

Sometimes, ordinary people fall in love in ordinary ways.  They invite each other out to Hogsmeade, trying desperately not to appear _too_ anxious.  Trips up to the Astronomy Tower become more frequent, snogging sessions more fervent.  A marriage proposal – or the invitation to share a flat – is made.  Maybe he dumps her, or maybe she sleeps around, and it all turns to custard.  The unlucky couple glare at each other in the Great Hall, and it's _mundane_, and normal, and they go on with their lives, after a while.    

Draco would do anything to be ordinary.  

Sometimes, even extraordinary people fall in love in ordinary ways.  Usually, there's an adjustment period, where they accept that they're extraordinary, and congratulate themselves on their good luck.  Maybe they come out of the closet, and their friends don't accept it, and choices have to be made.  Maybe she's an ex-prostitute or he's on the run, and neither of them wants an ordinary life so they decide to live in a tent in the woods.  Maybe they're both just simply brilliant, and they live their lives like superstars, bright and shining.  But they do it _together_.  

What happens, though, when the love is one-sided?

Sometimes, extraordinary people fall in love in extraordinary ways.  This was the case with Draco.  He doesn't quite know how it happened, actually.  One day, his hatred of all things Harry disappeared in a blaze of sexual attraction.  Slowly, surely, love bloomed in the heart of Draco so that now, almost a full year later, Draco is stuck with this ball of sheer _feeling_ in his chest, almost like indigestion.  

The only problem is, Harry doesn't feel the same way.  

Draco knows this.  He can tell, you see, because Harry pays no attention to Draco at all.  Whenever he turns to look at Harry, Harry is looking the other way… laughing with Weasley and Granger, glaring at Professor Snape, even picking his nails absentmindedly.  When they last played Quidditch, Harry ignored every single one of Draco's taunts, and went on to catch the Snitch in a blaze of Gryffindor honour and glory.  

Draco can't understand why Harry doesn't love him.  He is, after all, a Malfoy… rich and good looking, with fantastic connections and a large ancestral pile.  

And Harry's a Gryffindor.  He's _supposed_ to be friendly and nice and _love back_, the silly twat.  You'd think he'd be _grateful_, for god's sake.  He grew up in a closet, after all.  He's supposed to be the kind of person who would take whatever he could get.  Not that Draco is a bad deal, of course.  

Of course he's upset about it.  How would _you_ feel if the one you loved didn't love you back?  He's upset, and angry, and not quite in a normal frame of mind.  At Quidditch practise Draco is distracted by images of a naked Harry holding his Firebolt.  At meals he thinks only of what it would be like to lick rice pudding off Harry's abdomen.  He has no life, and it bothers him greatly.  

If it were only sexual attraction Draco could deal with it.  Maybe he'd have to spend a lot of time in his dorm room to work off 'excess energy'.  Maybe he'd have to seduce a Hufflepuff – somebody willing and eager.  Maybe, if it came to it, he could pretend that his Aunt Clarice has died and make a quick trip to Knockturn Alley, where anything can be bought, even broken down, diseased wizards who'll pretend to be someone else for the price of a meal plus drinks.  

But it's worse than that. He also wants to _hold_ Harry, and _comfort_ him.  Caress the raven locks of hair and stroke the pale cheeks.  Draco shouldn't be having these thoughts: he's a Malfoy, and Malfoys, especially the young ones, aren't supposed to want to comfort anyone except aging relatives with large estates.  This makes it impossible for even Draco, a consummate Slytherin, to justify seeing other people.  He doesn't _want_ other people.  He wants Harry.  

Loving Harry Potter leaves Draco with no choices.  He's a lost little lamb surrounded by wolves, and he can't move for fear of being eaten.  Not that he'd mind being eaten, if it were Harry's mouth…. 

At a time in his life where he should be out having fun, shagging girls and getting pissed, he's alone in the library, plotting ways to get Harry's attention.  He shouldn't be a seventeen year old virgin – the first one in Malfoy history – because he was too busy loving Harry to pay the least bit of attention to the dozens of rich, nubile girls who wanted him.  

Draco would do anything for Harry, murder included. If Harry asked, Draco would hack his way through classrooms of small schoolchildren just to make him smile.  

If only he could get Harry's attention….

He's getting bitter, now.  Harry seems to be dating Others.  It's time for desperate measures, and Draco knows just what to do.  

Isn't love a beautiful thing?

FIN


	2. A MidAir Collision, Narrowly Avoided

Disclaimer: I do not own, nor will I ever own Harry Potter or any of his friends, enemies, or associates.  
  
Author's Note: This story contains slash. This chapter runs at roughly the same time as the previous one; I hope it makes sense. This is a kind of train-of-thought experiment thingy, and I don't know if it works. Please tell me, either way.  
  
A Mid-Air Collision, Narrowly Avoided By maudlinrose  
  
Harry Potter loves Draco Malfoy, and Harry thinks that Draco knows.  
  
Harry thinks this mainly because Draco always seems to be around, smirking and muttering rude things. Draco certainly acts like he knows - he's becoming more and more determined, in his efforts to upset Harry.  
  
Harry doesn't blame him. If Harry thought that his worst enemy was in love with him - actually, being that his worst enemy is Voldemort, the situation would be too ludicrous for words.  
  
But Harry loves Draco, and Draco knows, obviously, and it'll all be over school soon, like the Parselmouth thing and the Heir of Slytherin thing. Harry would be suicidal, if he weren't in Gryffindor and therefore not the type to commit suicide, unless it saves lives.  
  
Unrequited love is the very worst feeling in the world - a twisted sort of emotion that never does anybody any good. If there was any chance that maybe someday Draco would return the emotion - but there isn't, and Harry would be better off just stifling that line of thought.  
  
He seeks solace in his friends. There's nothing complex about Harry's relationships with Hermione and Ron; a common bond of loyalty and shared experience tie them together. They've always been there for Harry, and he has no reason to suppose that will ever change.  
  
It wasn't supposed to be like this. Harry tries so very hard to be ordinary, only he's not, and the one area of his life where he thought he might be able to be - personal relationships - has turned into some kind of sick fantasy.  
  
Harry has been withdrawing from normal human contact since the end of fourth year. In a way, his love for Draco is not, therefore, unusual. Loving someone who cannot and will not ever return the emotion works out well for someone trying to avoid entanglement. Loving Draco means avoiding Draco, for Draco is pain because Draco knows. Harry knows that Draco knows.  
  
There is no end to knowledge.  
  
Harry has stopped reacting to Draco's taunts. He can't even stand to look at Draco, afraid of what he might see reflected in those grey eyes. Pale eyes, his, the eyes of a genius or a madman. Pale eyes that seem to follow him wherever he goes, and pale lips which smirk and smile and.  
  
Harry is alone with Ginny Weasley. She's nice, Ron's little sister. They look good together, an unconscious parody of Harry's own dead parents. They kiss, as they're supposed to, and Harry is planning on asking her to Hogsmeade one weekend. Eventually, he'll admit to loving her, and one day, maybe, he'll feel the emotion. For now, they smile at each other over the breakfast table.  
  
And all the while, Draco smirks at Harry, like he knows something.  
  
It hadn't happened overnight, Harry's love for Draco. There was no moment of realisation, no blinding millisecond of revelation. There wasn't a day where it started, and there won't be a day where it ends. Gryffindors are loyal. Harry will love Draco until one of them dies, or both. Possibly not even then, assuming that ghosts feel emotion.  
  
The entire situation is strange. Harry's never going to be able to take Draco home to his family, and it's not just that all his family either hate him or don't breathe.  
  
Once upon a time, two people saw in each other something so wonderful and so rare that they could not help but fall in love. Their love for one another was conveyed in longing looks and heartfelt sighs. Eventually, they got married and had a son. The lucky two lived in a state of bliss, until an evil wizard came and brutally murdered them.  
  
Once upon a time, Harry fell in love with Draco. And Draco found out. Harry is waiting for the axe to fall, and he's hoping desperately he'll manage to avoid the fatal blow. It would be so easy, though, for Draco to break Harry. Everybody has a breaking point, and Harry's is far easier to find than anyone would suspect.  
  
Love. Harry doesn't really know the meaning of the emotion, except he knows that love is the only word that comes close to what he feels for Draco. Destroy his chance to be loved in return - a trite phrase, certainly, but accurate - and it'd destroy Harry.  
  
Quidditch. Flying has always felt to Harry like the ultimate freedom, except for all the times where somebody has tried to kill him in the air. Quidditch is the one time where Harry can feel somewhat free, except that everyone expects him to win all the time. Okay, so maybe Quidditch isn't all that great, freedom-wise, but Harry isn't the type to really think about phallic symbols. But he likes it, ever so much, and if someone took away Harry's chance to pretend he's normal, they'd harm him beyond repair.  
  
Harry thinks that maybe Draco knows these things about him. He seems to know a lot, Draco.  
  
Loving Draco Malfoy makes the games against Slytherin infinitely harder for Harry. Draco sneers, and smirks, and tries to knock Harry off his broom. Harry cringes and tries to ignore him.  
  
It's made the games that much more exciting for the spectators.  
  
It happens in the season final, Slytherin vs. Gryffindor. Both Seekers, circling at opposite ends of the pitch, catch sight of the Snitch, hovering innocently in the exact centre of the field. For the first time in months, Harry and Draco make eye contact. A look of determination forms in Harry's eyes. Draco is smirking, as expected. They race headlong, straight towards each other.  
  
At the very last second possible, right before they crash into one another, and one of them catches the Snitch, they both swerve suddenly. They miss each other by inches.  
  
The crowd cheers, loudly.  
  
The game continues.  
  
A mid-air collision, narrowly avoided. 


	3. Rules of Inference

Disclaimer:  I do not own, nor will I ever own Harry Potter or any of his friends, enemies, or associates.  

Author's Note:  This chapter runs about two or three months after the previous two; I'm not sure of the timing precisely.  Unlike the previous two chapters, the P.O.V. changes from time to time.  The P.O.V. at any given moment should be obvious enough.  There is repeated use of offensive language.  Oh, and there is an actual conversation between Harry and Draco in this one, which I hadn't planned on; again, tell me if it works, please.

**Rules of Inference**

Draco has never liked any of that romance crap.  None of it: not the gazing into moonstruck eyes, not the dawning of fragile realisation, not the first shining, easily mocked days of public displays of affection.  Not even the kissing in abandoned classrooms, although Draco is willing to relinquish his distaste if Harry is.  

He sends Harry flowers on Valentine's Day anyway.  Not publicly, of course, and unsigned; that would be stupid, and Draco tries as hard as he can to avoid stupidity.

They're very nice flowers… not roses: too cliché, or lilies: inappropriate in the face of Harry's dead mother.  Instead it's this colourful, expensive bunch of imported sunflowers: bright, cheerful, yellow things, with edible seeds.  

There isn't a card except the standard one from the florists, stating in cheap black ink that Harry has a Secret Admirer; it had come with the capital letters, and Draco hadn't been bothered enough to change it.  

Draco doesn't regret his decision.  Harry looks stunned when the flowers (delivered by a school owl; his own would be too traceable, and Draco had learnt how to avoid being traced years ago, even if he hasn't had much opportunity or reason to use the knowledge thus far) drop into his breakfast, and happy when he reads the card.  The happiness doesn't last long on Harry's face: it is quickly replaced by what looks to be nervous anger, as Harry looks around the Hall, trying to figure out who sent them.  

Draco pretends to concentrate on his toast as Harry looks briefly at the Slytherin table.  

*

Harry _is_ stunned when a rather nice bunch of sunflowers drop into his plate of porridge, early morning on Valentine's Day.  The people surrounding him look stunned too, although all recover quickly and ask, in varying tones of surprise, what the card says.  Harry tells them – it's unsigned, and says in pretty black handwriting that Harry has a Secret Admirer, capital letters included.  The florists are located in Diagon Alley; a place Harry will have no opportunity to go to until next summer.  

Ron suspects one of the Third Year Hufflepuffs because sunflowers are yellow and Third Years are silly.  It seems logical enough, so Harry agrees quietly and looks round the Hall.

It could be Draco though, thinks Harry, and it is that thought which ruins the gesture for him.  If Draco sent them, then Draco definitely knows, and is definitely mocking Harry.

Harry contents himself by asking Ginny Weasley if _she_ sent them; he knows she didn't: it isn't her style at all, and it makes everybody laugh.  Harry looks at Draco briefly as he does this, and notices a grimace – not a scowl, not a sneer, a _grimace ­_– on Draco's face.  The expression disappears into Draco's usual veneer before Harry looks away.  

That's it, then.  Harry has been found out.  Harry has not spent his entire time at Hogwarts thus far angering Draco Malfoy in order to know nothing about the boy: if Draco is _grimacing_ at him, then Draco sent the sunflowers.  

*

_Shit! _Draco thinks.  _Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit._  Harry has worked it out.  Harry knows.  Vincent and Gregory are giving him funny looks, and Professor Snape looks unamused, but none of this is unusual, and it's irrelevant anyway in the wider context of Harry having worked it out.  

Harry has spent the entire Potions lesson thus far attempting to sneak looks at Draco.  That is not to say that he hasn't been looking at Draco; rather, that it hasn't been surreptitious at all.  This would amuse Draco, in any other situation, but the shit has hit the dragon, and dragons don't like shit.  

Because, _shit!_ Harry knows, and _fuck!_ if Harry knows, then Harry is going to spend the rest of his time at Hogwarts making Draco's life miserable, because Harry can and there isn't any reason not to, because Draco is supposed to hate Harry, and he doesn't, and… and… and… Draco answers the question, something about dragon's blood.  He ignores the look of surprise and distaste on Professor Snape's face when he gets it wrong. 

Draco thinks that if Harry, by any chance, _hadn't_ made all of the necessary connections before this lesson, then he certainly has by now.  Draco snickers under his breath about the irony, the cosmic truth, and the fucking _injustice_ of it all.  

He receives five points from Slytherin and a detention after dinner.  _Shit!_

*

Harry wakes up in the early hours of the next morning and is certain.  Draco definitely sent the flowers.  What Harry can't figure out is why, except his early reasoning: that Draco knows, and is taunting Harry.

But that doesn't make sense.  Even Harry can see that.  If Draco had wanted to taunt Harry about it, he's had ample opportunity.  There was the Quidditch match, and dozens of meeting in school hallways, and Potions class yesterday, where….  Where Draco was acting strangely, almost like he knew that Harry had worked it out and hadn't expected it, and… but that's just silly, because Draco fucking _knows_, and this isn't his style at all.  

Harry goes back to sleep thinking about it.  

That morning, Ron wakes him, as usual.  Harry showers, and dresses, and walks down to breakfast slightly behind the adoring couple of Ron and Hermione, as usual, and is pulled into an unused classroom on the second floor by Draco, which definitely isn't.

*

Draco hadn't planned on actually confronting Harry when he'd sent him the flowers.  Draco had planned on sort of, well, _wooing_ Harry, courting him.  Eventually, of course, Draco had planned to speak with Harry properly, but not until absolutely necessary.

Absolutely necessary has come an awful lot sooner than he'd expected.  

Once the decision had been made, though, the planning and execution had been simple and could be explained in one sentence: Get Harry alone, using any means necessary.  

Draco wakes up in the early hours of the morning, knowing that he has to speak to Harry; possibly even explain himself, providing time permits.  Draco, being a Slytherin, sees nothing incongruous about threatening the object of his affections if said object refuses to do what they're told, and thus prepares a range of back-up plans.  

He shoves the plans – totalling eleven feet of parchment plus a model of the second floor classrooms – into his satchel and leaves for breakfast, having had three hours of sleep.  

"What are you doing, Malfoy?" asks Harry angrily, the moment Draco has locked the door and placed a silencing charm on the room.  Perversely, Harry has remained silent up until this point, and hadn't made so much as a murmur when Draco had dragged him in here.  

"I know what you did!" is the second thing Harry says, having had no reply to his prior question.  

"I know," says Draco.  Curiously, Harry shudders.  

"I know," says Draco again, just to gauge Harry's reaction.

Harry does not act as expected.  Harry is supposed to taunt Draco, starting now, but instead… "And I think you're a complete git for it.  You shouldn't be doing this."

"I know," says Draco for a third time, hopelessly.  

Harry apparently misses the tone completely.  "Stop fucking _saying_ that!  I know that you know, and you're… this isn't something that I can just ignore.  I ignored all the rest of it – all the teasing, all the crap you do just because you…"

"The stalking?  Yes, well, that's just lovely of you – so fucking noble," Draco jeers.  This isn't going well.  

"Stalking is an odd word for it, Malfoy.  I'd call it taunting."  Harry is puzzled by something; Draco can see that.  

"Wait a minute, Potter," says Draco.  "What is it that you think I know?"  

"You know," says Harry, looking decidedly ill.

Draco sneers.  "Obviously not, Potter, or else I wouldn't be asking."

Harry looks determined.  "If you don't know, then I'm not saying anything."

"Fucking say it, Potter, or I'll hex you into oblivion."

Harry's face softens slightly, and this surprises Draco.  "You're so melodramatic, Malfoy."

"I'm not joking, Potter.  Tell me what you think I know."  Draco is reaching the end of his patience.  He'd been expecting this to go more… smoothly, somehow.  Harry obviously sees this.

"Fine.  This can't get any worse anyway," Harry mutters.  "That I… that I, well, that… I know you know that I like you, okay?  And you're such a fucking bastard to tease me about it, and I'm going now."

"No!" says Draco, quickly.  "No," he says again, sounding stung.

"No what, Malfoy?"  Harry does not sound happy.

"No, I did not know.  Potter.  You fucking moron."  Draco is having a very good day now.  

"There isn't any need to rub it in, you bastard.  I know you're going to spend the rest of your life making me miserable, but you could at least… and, hang on, if you didn't know, why'd you send the flowers?"  Harry looks confused.  The expression looks curiously natural on his face.  

"Because… because I'd like to spend the rest of my life making you miserable.  Or, you know, not.  Whatever," finishes Draco, sounding defensive.  He crosses his arms and tries to look as though he isn't a melting pile of Slytherin slime: slime the exact colour, incidentally, of Harry's eyes.  

"Oh," says Harry.  Harry still looks confused.  

Draco smiles at him.  Harry smiles back.  The smiles aren't particularly pretty, even if they are genuine; that sort of thing only comes with practise.  

Draco spends the rest of the day feeling both utterly happy and utterly stupid: although his logic had been impeccable, not a single one of his premises had been correct.  

Harry, apparently, cannot think and feel at the same time, and so his logical misadventures do not bother him at all.  

**FIN**


End file.
